A moronic cunt. Or one who is mentally impaired. Often characterized by having awful taste in music, writing shitty poetry and cutting.
Various awards with the Hurleygurly935 namesake have been given out to those who have the characteristics mentioned earlier.

Ocean Ave. has received the Hurleygurly935 award based on her moronic comments.

A garbage term where anything new, which people can't reconcile with straight archetypal Hard Rock, Metal, Punk, or Rap, goes. To give an example, while Linkin Park may be more closely associated with the 'mainstream' sides of punk, Slipknot is undoubtedly a prime figure of aggro metal. This is where the often misunderstood value of nu metal lies. It attempts an unconscious vocalization of primordial anger, perhaps even without deeper meanings, complex metaphors, or beautiful or technical instrumentals. And that is why it does something that no other genre has ever been successful in doing. It does not try to appeal to intelligence or to a technically minded ear. It appeals to anger, rage, frustration, and, yes, even to angst but all of these things only to feed Hatred. To truly arrive at hatred, it is necessary to sometimes incorporate a grabbag of other emotions, or even to disregard any sort of musical sanity. For example, it is to numetal we owe the completely original vocalization of hatred that is offered by Johnathan Davis in the popular song "Freak on a Leash." We hear insane grunts and intake of breath before we arrive at the end of the song, where Davis breaks into a hate filled nonsense utterance rap that is could never have existed in another genre. In short, the point of aggro is to bypass the conscious, to claw it away, and to reach and agitate the subconscious death drive and hatred of all living things, all humanity.

John Pobbleton sat down, unwound his dirt laden white ipod headphones, and turned on some nu-metal, specifically, "Freak on a Leash." For the next couple of minutes he began to furiously rip all of the skin off his index finger. After about three minutes, he bolted up from his seat, and commenced to systematically drive the bone of his index finger through the now seemingly paperthin skulls of everyone in the room. Luckily, the nu-metal drowned out all of their resistance and screams, and by the time the song was over, Pobbleton was the only sentient organism left in the room. Additionally, he felt much, much better.